


White Christmas

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 12:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: Napoleon isn't feeling very jolly about his latest assignment.  However, perhaps talking to Santa about it isn't his best course of action.Prompts:  a moonlit night, a cat's paw, captured.





	White Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemirovitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemirovitch/gifts).



_Tis the season to be jolly_.  Napoleon wanted to punch out the loudspeaker as it blared its holiday cheer.  He wasn’t feeling jolly.  He wasn’t feeling anything akin to an appreciation for mankind at the moment.  It was odd for him to be in this foul a mood at Christmas, but everything about the season this year annoyed him.

Of course, it was all things fowl that put him in this mood. For some reason, THRUSH always seemed to put in overtime when the holidays approached.  He’d been running ragged at work trying to save the world.  Sadly, it wasn’t something that he could wrap and put under a tree.

Now here it was approaching ‘C’ day and he hadn’t even started his Christmas shopping. Granted since he and Illya had become a couple, there were fewer gifts to buy, but the ones he did required thought, energy and time, none of which he had in great abundance.

He pushed his way clear of the shopping thong and saw a small alcove. Just what he needed to clear his head.  He slipped into it and breathed a sigh of relief.

“You, too?”

The voice should have startled him, but he was too tired and grumpy to care. He stared into the shadows and gradually made out a figure.  A red-suited figure who was slumped into chair that barely held his jolly mass. Napoleon set his bags down and rolled his shoulders.  Nest year, he’d buy lighter stuff.

“Yeah, me, too. When did Christmas get so crazy?”

“You’re asking the wrong man.” Santa offered him a cigarette, but Napoleon declined.  He’s long since given up that little vice.  It was something too easy for THRUSH to manipulate.  “For me, it’s always a bit wild at this time.  The kids aren’t so bad, but the parents… They are stressed, exasperated and at their wits end.  They want to make the day wonderful for their children, but they often can’t.”

“Sounds like me, sans kid.” Napoleon leaned against the wall.  “I usually love Christmas, but not so much as of late.  Where did the magic go?”

“That’s the nice thing about Christmas, though. You can always get the magic back.”  Santa ground out his cigarette.  “And what do you want for Christmas, Mr. Solo.”

“Some peace and quiet… wait, how did you know my name?” Suddenly Napoleon was wary.

“I’m Santa Claus. Also, it’s written on your bag right there.”

Napoleon grinned at that, his mood restored. “Well, Santa, what I’d love is a bit of peace and quiet, far away from the maddening horde, just me and my partner, a warm fire and a goodwill towards men.  Or do I need to be sitting on your knee to make it official.” 

“I think we can pass on that this time. I will do my best to make your Christmas wish come true.”

“That would be fabulous. What can I do for you, in return?”  Napoleon bent to gather his packages back up.

“Just keep being a good man, Mr. Solo. Take care of us.”

“Wow, that’s a tall --” he stopped when he realized he was alone. He was more tired than he realized apparently.

_****_

_It was funny how just one person could make a difference in your life,_ Napoleon thought as he came up in the elevator to his apartment.  Since Illya had moved in, the place had gone from a place to hang his hat to a home, a real home.  Whether it was a game of chess in front of the fireplace, a heated debate in the kitchen or love making in the bedroom, Illya breathed life into the penthouse.

Napoleon put out his key to unlock the door and froze. He could hear something from inside.  He set down his packages and glanced around to make sure he wasn’t being watched.  He slipped his Walther out of its holster and clicked off the safety.  Cautiously, he opened the door, but remained in the hall.

Christmas music was coming from the living room and the smell of something wonderful drifted to him. It was almost too much to ask for.

“Illya?” he asked tentatively.

“In the kitchen!” came back a familiar voice.

Napoleon was still careful. Illya wasn’t due back from Sweden until after the first of the year.  It could be a trap.  He picked up his packages, eased into the hall and dropped them by the coat rack.  There was a familiar trench coat hanging there and Napoleon made a face.  The hook, however padded, was going to make a mess of the raw silk lining.  Beside the entry hall table was a beat up suitcase and Napoleon put his gun away.

He walked into the living room and smiled. The tree was lit and blinking happily.  There was a fire in the fireplace and his partner was carrying a tray towards him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been gone for a month and that’s the first thing you can think to say to me? I’m here because you recalled me.”

“Not me.”

“Oh… I was on surveillance one minute and then the next thing I knew I was on a plane heading back here. It doesn’t matter.”  Illya set the tray down and tried to look chastising.  It lasted only a moment before he was in Napoleon’s arms for a frantic embrace and kiss.  “Easy, now, I have a whole evening planned.”

“Evening?” Confusion wiped the passion from Napoleon’s vision. “Why evening?”

“I’m back on the plane tomorrow. Waverly is sending me to New Hampshire of all places.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you?” Illya sighed, then nuzzled Napoleon’s neck, kissing the whisker rough skin.  “Sigh, apparently on top of everything else, I am now a cat’s paw.”

“You are cat like in some ways, but your hands are not paw like at all.” Napoleon carried one to his mouth and rested it on his face.

“A cat’s paw is someone used by someone else to carry out an unpleasant or dangerous task.”

“And you’re being here with me is dangerous how?”

“You’re on the plane with me tomorrow.”

“WHAT?” Napoleon pulled from Illya’s embrace.  “That’s insane.  Christmas is five days away.  I have… I can’t.  What the hell is Waverly thinking?”

“Don’t shoot the innocent animal here. I’m not anymore keen about this than you are.  However, we both know there isn’t much we can do about it.”

“I know. It’s just… well, this is our first Christmas together.”

“You know that’s not true.” Illya drew Napoleon closer.

“It is as a couple.”

“Napoleon, whether or not you realized it, we’ve been a couple for a long time.” His tongue teased its way past the sullen lips and into Napoleon’s mouth, plunging happily into the warm moisture.  He held Napoleon’s head still as they kissed, leaving Napoleon’s hands free to roam. 

They happily pushed clothes aside. It had been a long three weeks and hand jobs and phone sex were not the same thing.  He needed to feel Illya’s skin against his, to be inside him and hear his partner cry out with need and passion.

 _Decisions, decisions_ Napoleon thought as warm flesh met his fingertips.  He mapped Illya’s body as they traveled downward, reaching a belt buckle.  It yielded to him as did the clasp and fly.  He teased his hands downward to cup Illya’s genitals, smiling at the noise coming from his partner’s throat.

Breaking free, Napoleon dropped to his knees and pulled Illya’s trousers down. He stepped out of them, but also moved out of range. 

“One of us is curiously over-dressed,” Illya complained as he began to pull Napoleon’s shirt free from his pants. Within a matter of seconds, both men were naked and in front of the fire.

Napoleon didn’t care about rug burn, strained muscles or much of anything else as he took possession of Illya’s penis and began to nibble it like an ear of corn. Illya’s reaction made Napoleon laugh, moan in his own pleasure.

The truth of the matter was that both of them were too tightly wound to have much lasting power. Now was not a time to test endurance.  It was time to reestablish their connection and reestablish they did.   They groaned their way through almost simultaneous climaxes and Napoleon remained in place, resting his head on Illya’s thigh.

“Doesn’t look like so much now,” he murmured, giving the penis one last kiss.

“Same here.”

“Give me a minute.”

Suddenly Napoleon was alone and he nearly whined at the break. “I’ll give you ten.  Go get changed and meet me by the fire.  Don’t wear anything overly complicated.”  Illya disappeared into the kitchen and Napoleon grudgingly got to his feet, collecting clothes as he went.

He returned quickly, wearing just a robe and a hopeful expression. Illya was setting a tray of drinks down by the fire.  He handed Napoleon one as soon as he got within range.  Illya, too, was wearing just a robe.

“Wishful thinking?” Napoleon murmured, sipping the martini as he settled onto the couch.  It was very cold and crisp, much like the whisper of air that snuck in from outside.  Above the sound of the traffic, distant and thrumming, he could hear the rain.  He sighed happily as Illya joined him, resting against him.

“Not wishful thinking when you’re betting on a sure thing. I knew how I felt and figured you’d be in the same state.”  He sipped and shivered as Napoleon fondled his hair.  “I wonder if it’s ever going to snow this year.”

Napoleon pulled a quilt from off the back of the couch and drew it around them, even though he knew neither of them were cold, not really. “The forecasters can’t make up their minds.  Maybe this will turn to snow and we’ll be stuck here.” 

“Like Mr. Waverly would accept that excuse.” Illya chewed on his olive.  “It’s just nice to have a night here.”

“Was Sweden that bad?”

“You weren’t there. How could it be good?”  Illya sat forward to refill their glasses and pushed a small bowl of olives towards him.  “THRUSH is getting more and more cautious these days.  There were traces, but just traces.  I remember the good old days when the bad guy just stood up and announced their intentions.  Certainly takes all the fun out of being snatched in the dead of night and tossed into a cell.”

“It did take a lot of guess work out of it. Were you captured?  Tortured?”  There was a sick feeling in the pit of Napoleon’s stomach.

“No, more like bored to death. I got stuck on stake out.” 

Napoleon chuckled at that. “I told you annoying Van Der Hoff was going to have repercussions.”

“I set fire to his office six years ago,” Illya protested. “The man needs a lesson in forgive and forget.”

“He’s Section One. To my experience, they do neither.”  The wind rattled the window again and Napoleon looked over at it.  “Sounds like it really blowing up a storm out there.”

“Agreed.” Illya set his glass down and stood up, shivering as he left the warmth of the fire.  He shut the door with a click of his tongue.  “Just rain.”

“I think there’s something in the freezer if you don’t want to go out.” Napoleon’s voice was hopeful.

“Not to worry. I stopped by Leung’s on my way here.  It’s in the oven.  Are you hungry?”

“For some reason ravenous.” Napoleon’s eyes traveled up and down Illya’s body.  “I’m not entirely sure it’s for food, though.”

“Nice, but unlike you, I am starved. Dinner was nine hours ago and is only a faint memory.  I do my best work on a full stomach.”

 ****

And Napoleon had to admit the work was very good, honed and handled by an expert hand. He smiled sleepily at the memory of the night before… the night still from the looks of it.  Then the alarm went off and he cancelled it. 

He struggled to keep his annoyance and disappointment tucked away. He’d usually been lucky at this time of the year and managed to stay in town.  Work was slow and his nights were a mind-numbing tumble from one party to the next, ending up at Aunt Amy’s for Christmas Day.  Illya began joining him for dinner there, but then Amy announced Illya a member of the family and brought him into their day-long celebration.  Amy had passed two years ago, willing Napoleon this penthouse.  He loved it and its memories comforted him in the days after her death. 

And now Illya was here with him and Napoleon looked forward to their first shared Christmas in the apartment.

“Thanks for nothing, Santa, he muttered beneath his breath and gave the lump to his left a nudge. “Hey, rise and shine.”

“I prefer to do neither,” came his partner’s voice from the mound of blankets.

They had loved most of the night away, but finally sleep overtook them around two. Napoleon burrowed into the blankets until he came to warm flesh and cuddled up against it.  Illya moaned in protest and that made Napoleon grin.  “C’mon, Waverly waits for no man.”

“Now you’ve brought him into it and ruined my dream. I might as well get up.” 

“You can have first crack at the shower. I’ll go make coffee.”

“How can you be this awake this morning?”

“It’s a curse.” Napoleon sat up and pulled the blanket with him. 

“I’ll give you a curse.” Illya snatched at the bedclothes. 

Napoleon laughed and rolled out of bed, stepped into his slippers as his feet hit the floor. He tugged his robe on and stretched.  Leaving his grousing partner behind, he walked out of the bathroom and headed to the kitchen. 

The living room was much as they’d left it, so after he started the coffee, he took the bag from kitchen garbage pail and carried it to the fireplace. He scooped the remains of food and boxes into the bag and tied it shut.  Their glasses he took back to the kitchen just in time for the percolator to finish. 

He found a couple of mugs, filled them and carried them back towards the bedroom. He could hear the shower going and knew that Illya had managed to separate himself from the bed finally.

Napoleon opened the curtains, frowning at the pre-dawn grey. Still nothing but rain.  “That’s depressing.”

“What is?” Illya asked as he entered from hallway, billows of steam collecting at his feet.

“More rain.”

“Maybe you can undock the Pursang and we can float to New Hampshire.” Illya’s voice was muffled as he towel dried his hair. 

“Don’t joke. I think I’m getting webbed feet.”  Napoleon resisted the urge to pull Illya into his arms and topple onto the bed.

“Just as long as nothing else webs.” Illya dropped the towel to his shoulders.  “Is the coffee ready?”

“Yes.” Napoleon pointed as he passed. “I hope you left me some hot water.”

Illya’s eye dipped. “Looks as if you are more in need of cold water instead.”

“And whose fault would that be?” Napoleon called back to him.

He used a hand towel to wipe some of the steam from the mirror and eyed himself critically. They were careful not to leave any marks that might be visible to a casual observer.  What they had was private and they intended to keep it that way.  Waverly knew, of course, but he was enough.

By the time he finished, he was nearly awake. As he stepped from the shower, he noticed his cup of coffee next to the sink.  It was nice to have his partner home.

 

They drove to headquarters in companionable silence. This was one of the aspects of their relationship that Napoleon cherished.  They didn’t have to be talking all the time.  Quite often the silence between them said more than when they did.

Illya pulled into the UNCLE parking garage and into the car’s assigned spot. “I’m hoping they will give us something a bit more rugged for the drive up.”

“You can always put in a request.”

“I think I will.” Illya sighed and looked over at Napoleon, “See you tonight?”

At work, they maintained a very strict hands off policy. “If you can make it that long.”

“I can make it.” Illya grinned.  “You’re the one who struggles, not me.  I am the epitome of control.”

“As if a Solo would tumble to temptation.” Napoleon climbed from the car and headed for his office.  Illya went in search of the head of the fleet.

Within a half hour, they were back on the road, crawling through rush hour traffic. They finally shook themselves free of it and headed north. 

“So where are we going?” Illya spared Napoleon a fraction of his attention from the road ahead.

“Would you believe Bethlehem?”

“Tell me you are joking.”

“No, it’s a small village just at the base of the White Mountain state reserve. According to what Mr. Waverly told me, THRUSH has something major going down there.  Its code name is, and you are going to love this, The Manger.” 

“And we think THRUSH is without a sense of humor.” Illya shook his head and increased the speed of the wipers.

“According to the map, it’s a drive of six hours and thirty one minutes.”

“In dry weather.”

“Just take your time. If we have to stop before then, we will.”

 **** 

They pulled into the Heathside Village well after seven that night. Despite Napoleon’s offer to drive, Illya had stayed behind the wheel.  The rain finally tapered off when they hit Manchester, but it turned to sleet, then finally to snow.  The last hour has been fraught with icy roads.  They stopped in Plymouth to put on chains, but it was still slow going.

“You sit tight and I’ll get us checked in.” Napoleon patted Illya’s shoulder and winced at the tightness there.  “Good driving, partner.”

“Thanks.” Illya tipped his head back against the seat and sighed.  “At least we are here and we don’t have to go back out.”  They had been cautioned that the hotel did not have a restaurant, but that their room would have a stove and refrigerator, plus cooking and dining ware.  They picked up some essentials during their last gas stop.

“I agree. I think you’ve earned some serious downtime.”

Napoleon wrapped his top coat tightly about him as he left the warmth of the car for the cold of the night. Even with the snow on the ground, it didn’t seem as cold as New York had been.  It took him just a few steps to cross the parking lot to the lobby.

It was brightly trimmed with all the trappings of the season, but it seemed strangely quiet. “Hello?” he said.

A woman appeared from a small room behind the desk.  “Ah, you must either be Solo or Kuryakin.”

“Napoleon Solo,” he introduced himself with a dazzling smile. She brightened at it.  “I was expecting it to be a bit busier.”

“Just wait a week. We are always quiet before Christmas, but come the next day and we will be buzzing.  By New Year’s, every place in town will be packed.”  She pulled some paperwork from a folder.  “We’ve put you in Cottage One, if that’s all right.”  She circled something on a map and pushed it towards him.

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Napoleon glanced at the paper and nodded.

“We don’t have a restaurant, but your room does have a fully-equipped kitchenette.” She pushed a register to him and he signed.

“Yes, thank you.   We were told.” 

“Enjoy your stay with us.”

 ***

The cottage was actually harder to find than he thought and he was glad to have the map as a guide. The snow had stopped and the moon was playing hide and seek with the clouds.  Once he knew where their room was, he headed back to registration.  Sure enough Illya hadn’t moved a muscle.  He barely lifted his head as Napoleon climbed in.

“You’re lucky I’m not THRUSH. Our cabin is around that way.”

Illya cleared his throat and sat up, starting the car. He followed Napoleon’s directions as if in a daze. 

 Napoleon unlocked the door and turned on the lights before helping Illya with their suitcases.

“This is nice,” Illya admitted as he entered and looked around. There was a sitting area and fireplace to his right and a small table and kitchenette to his left. 

“Through that door is the bedroom and the bathroom.” Napoleon placed his armful of grocery bags on the table.   “Looks like the heater is here.”

“Cozy.” Illya went to check out the rest of the cabin, disappearing into the dim recesses. 

Napoleon busied himself getting the last two bags out of the car. Shutting the trunk, he looked up at the moon-lit sky.  The clouds had dropped away and the nearly full moon bounced its light off the snow, flooding the area around him.  The air was cold and scented with pine.  There were only two other cars in the parking lot, but the reception clerk was right.  They pretty much did have the place to themselves.  If it wasn’t for the presence of THRUSH, this would have been a nice little getaway.

Instinctively, he studied the areas to the left and right of the cabin. There was little cover and too many windows to suit him.  With any luck, they had enough alarms between them.  He sighed unhappily.  The magic of the moment was gone.

He hefted the bags and headed back to the cabin, knocking the door open with his hip.   Illya was just exiting the bedroom, drying his hands on a towel.

“We have two windows back there.”

“And three here.”

“Not sure we have to worry about the one in the kitchen. It’s too small even for me to wiggle through. Rig it anyways?”

“If we can. If not, then don’t worry.”

Quietly and systematically they went through the small cabin, securing it. If THRUSH was going to break in, it would alert everyone in the town. 

“Now, we just have to remember to disable these during the day.” Illya grinned at the memory.  “You only do that once.”

“If you’re lucky. Otherwise, remember to tip the maid well.”  Napoleon stepped back and admired his handiwork.  “Do you want to start the fire or dinner?”

“I’ll go with my strengths, the fire.”

Napoleon poked around the kitchenette. It was small, but everything was there.  Their meal was simple but hearty.  He made an extra portion as a decoy, knowing that his partner would likely devour it and thereby saving his own portion. 

He carried the plates to the table. “Can you uncork the wine or would you rather have something else?”  At the silence that followed, Napoleon glanced over at the occupied chair.  Illya was sound asleep, his feet stretched towards the fire.

Smiling, Napoleon walked over and kissed the blond head. “Do you want to eat or sleep?”

At the pause, Napoleon grinned. Finally, Illya stretched.  “Eat, I think.”

“Here or there?” He nodded back to the table.

“There. Here I’ll fall asleep again.”  He got to his feet and stretched again. 

“This would make a nice getaway if we didn’t have THRUSH to contend with.”

“Agreed.”

There was a knock to their door and the men exchanged wary looks.

Napoleon pulled on his jacket over his shoulder holster as he went to the door. Illya stood to one side, his weapon drawn, his expression grave.

“Yes?”

“Sir, I’m Holly… from Reception.”

He opened the door and recognized her. “Yes, Holly from Reception.  How can I help you?”

“We have a tradition of putting a tree in each of our cabins for Christmas. I wanted to ask if that would be okay for us to do tomorrow.”

Napoleon glanced over at Illya, who shrugged his shoulders. “Certainly.  I might even be inclined to help decorate it.”  He offered up a blinding smile and Illya rolled his eyes.

“That would be great. It‘ll be by nine.  Bye!”  She trudged back through the snow into the night, her way lit by the moon.

Napoleon watched her for a moment, then shut the door.

“Just tell me you’ll scan for bugs before you seduce her.” Illya holstered his weapon and headed for the table.

“She’s pretty cute for a THRUSH…” Napoleon paused, then chuckled.  “I never thought I’d use those two words in a sentence.”

“Well, it is pretty transparent.” Illya poured a glass of wine and pushed towards his partner.  “It’s hard to find good enemy agents these days.”

 ****

 

Napoleon shifted in bed and opened one eye. The room seemed overly bright despite the fact that the curtains were still drawn.  He sat up and realized he was alone.  The door to the bathroom stood open, but he could tell the shower had been used.

He found his robe and got up. The cabin was cool, but not cold.  Cautiously, he pushed open a curtain and sighed.  A thick blanket of snow carpeted everything.

“Ah, you’re up.” Illya appeared with coffee.  “You were sleeping so soundly that I figured you needed to rest.”

“Thanks. I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly.”  Napoleon wiped some of the condensation from the widow.  “It’s beautiful.”  He took the mug and inhaled.  “Is there anything that smells better than coffee in the morning?”  He took a swallow and sighed happily.

Illya embraced him from behind and nuzzled his neck. “I can think of a few things.”  He hesitated.  “I want you… right now.  Just like this.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Work?”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, we aren’t on the clock yet. Not until we strap our weapons on.”  Napoleon shrugged out of his robe and Illya caught it before it hit the ground.  He tossed it back onto the bed and turned Napoleon.   Illya’s erection was tenting the front of his jog pants and Napoleon stroked it through the material.   “Looks like someone wants to come out to play.”

“You have no idea.”

Napoleon wiggled out of Illya’s arms and walked to the bed, bending provocatively over in a pretense of straightening the bedclothes. “I… ah… have a little something in my shaving kit.”

Illya nodded and hurried to the bathroom. It took no time to find the tube of lube and to strip himself of his tee shirt and jog pants.

Napoleon, still bent over, glanced back and smiled as Illya held the tube up.

The gel was cold on his penis, but Illya didn’t care. He smeared it on and positioned himself.  Napoleon’s breath caught as Illya pushed in and then he let it out slowly.  Illya paused to give his partner’s body a chance to accept him, then continued.  This time he didn’t stop until he was fully immersed.

“You feel so good. Are you okay?”

Napoleon’s voice was shaky.   “Just wait for a minute.”

Illya did, reaching around to find Napoleon’s penis at half-staff. He stroked it back into a full erection and began to move.  He hit Napoleon’s prostate and there was a half gurgle groan.  “You like that?”  Illya pulled out and repeated it.  “How about that?”

Napoleon pressed back, grinding himself against Illya’s pubic bone. At that point, Illya knew it was time and he began to thrust in earnest.   He kept his hands on Napoleon’s ass, spreading the cheeks so he could watch himself move in and out.  Suddenly it was all too great and he bent over Napoleon’s back, pounding into him until he was suddenly perched on that most glorious of precipices.  One last thrust and he froze, eyes rolled back as he ejaculated.

As much as he wanted to collapse and cherish his afterglow, he reached around and found Napoleon’s penis, still hard and wanting. He kept moving until Napoleon groaned, his head tipped back.  Illya’s hand grew wet and sticky and that’s when he knew he could stop. 

They stretched out on the bed, spooning.

“Now that’s what I call a wake-up call.”   Napoleon sighed happily.  “I made a mess of my bathrobe, though.”

“Isn’t the first time or probably the last.” Illya peeled himself away, a little sad as his penis slipped from Napoleon’s body.  He went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water.  He cleaned himself up and then rinsed it and took it to Napoleon.  He carefully washed Napoleon, pausing to make sure there was no injuries. 

“That was good.”

“Good?” Illya dropped the cloth to the floor and relaxed back into Napoleon’s embrace.  “That was incredible.  I never knew sex could be like this.”

“Love makes all the difference.” Napoleon kissed Illya’s hair, burrowing his nose into the freshly washed hair. “And I can’t believe you took a shower and didn’t wake me.”

Illya reluctantly pulled free. “Why don’t you use the bathroom and I’ll work on breakfast. Bacon and eggs good?”

“I’m so hungry, dried up carpet and sticks would be good,”

“Ah, then you’ve had my bacon and eggs before.”

 ****

He came out of the bedroom, tying his neck tie and smiled. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace, breakfast was on the table and Illya was sitting there reading a newspaper.

“I do believe this is the epitome of domestication.”

Illya looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “And it’s all your fault.  You started feeding me, now I’ll never leave.”

Napoleon deposited a kiss on his head and poured some coffee.   “Why does that not disappoint me?”  He took a swallow and then tapped the paper.  “Anything interesting?”

“Well Hank Sheridan got drunk and mistook one of Old Man Sloan’s cows for a horse. The cow happened to be a bull and he’s recovering nicely from his injuries.”

Napoleon chuckled. “Ah, the stuff that passes for news in small towns.  Anything else bird related?”

“Not really, although there is quite a buzz around a group of men who are interested in buying up the Sawyer Mill.”

“Oh? That’s… hopeful.”  Napoleon slid some bacon onto his plate along with two remaining fried eggs.  Then he helped himself to a stack of toast.  “Any jam or jelly?”

“I will check it out this morning. It’s the only thing of any real promise.”  Illya reached behind him and snagged a jar from the counter.  “It’s strawberry.”

“Perfect.” Napoleon picked up a part of the paper Illya had already discarded and started reading, a warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach.  If only he could capture and freeze this moment.

Then it was gone and Illya was on his feet, clearing his plate. “I’ll check in five to the hour.  You have a good time decorating the tree.”  He drained his cup and put it in the sink.  “Anything you need while I’m out?”  He tucked his glasses away and reached for his holster.

Napoleon shook his head. “No, I can’t think of anything.

“Okay, well if you do, let me know.” Illya hesitated, then returned to Napoleon for a long, soul-searing kiss.  He sighed and pulled the leather holster on, twisting until the straps were flat.  “Be careful and call me if anything turns up.”

“You, too.”

And Illya was gone, sucking much of the life from the room. With him here, it was warm and comfortable.  Now it was just a room.

 ****

He did the dishes, starting once when he heard a strange noise from the parking lot. It proved to be someone with a plow. There was only one other car in the parking lot and a couple were loading suitcases into it. 

He finished the paper and washed up the dishes. In a sudden spur of domesticity, he even dried them and put them away.  He made the bed and tidied up the bathroom. 

Napoleon was just wondering on his next course of action when there was a kick to the cabin’s door. He pulled a cardigan over his shirt, effectively hiding his holster and weapon.

“Yes?”

“It’ me, Holly. Could you please open the door.” Her voice sounded strained and Napoleon hurried to pull it open, one hand still close to his Walther.  The woman stood there, boxes in her arms.  “Could you take these?”

She pushed them towards Napoleon and disappeared, reappearing with another armful. These she carried to the others and set them down.

“Where do you want it, Hol?” A man appeared holding a tree.  Napoleon was surprised.  He’d been expecting a table top version, not a six foot spruce.

“Um, on the corner by the window. We’ll have to move the chairs.  Napoleon, can you find the lights?”

“Sure.” He opened the top box, but it was garland.  The next one held boxes of ornaments.  The very last box held the lights.  “Figures,” he muttered as he carried it to the nearest receptacle.

Napoleon tried to draw Holly out with leading questions, but she seemed as good as avoiding them as she did hanging ornaments.

“You’ve done this a time or two,” Napoleon murmured.

“Yeah, live in a place like this, you find your entertainment where you can.   Here it starts snowing in October and doesn’t stop until April.  Where’s your friend?”

“He gets cabin fever easily.” Napoleon’s communicator took that moment to chirp at him.

“What’s that?” Holly jumped at the sound. 

“Oh, just a reminder for me to take my medicine. Excuse me.”  He headed for the bathroom and opened the channel.  “Illya?”

“In the very bored flesh.” Illya’s voice was tinny.  “I’ve been all over town and can’t find anything.”

“The mill?”

“The men are from a Boston restaurant chain and they are thinking of opening up a sort of one stop resort package.”

“Bet the locals are loving that.”

“They are, actually. I haven’t spoken with one person opposed to it.  How goes the tree trimming?”

“Very well. If there are listening devices embedded in anything, they did a smooth job of it.  Holly is even letting me pick the ornaments.”

“Probably in the base or the tree already then. Be careful.”

“You, too.” Napoleon twisted the communicator shut and flushed the toilet.  He washed his hands and returned to the small sitting area.  The scent of pine filled the cabin and he inhaled deeply.  “Reminds me of being a kid back in Vermont.”

“I knew it. When you came in, I knew you were one of us.”

Napoleon’s ears perked up. “One of us?”

“Yeah, a Yankee.” She hung an ornament and stepped back to eye the tree critically.  “Turn on the radio, will you?”

“Any particular station?” He walked to the radio and checked it out.  Might be worth popping it open later, just to be sure.  He found the on button and twisted it.  Immediately, Christmas music filled the air.  Somebody was singing about rocking around a Christmas tree.

“We only get one here. We’re in a bit of a valley.”  She started to sing along as she reached for another ornament.

“You shouldn’t use them all here. What about the other cabins?”

“Yours is the only one rented through Christmas. Day after we are booked solid.  This is our last respite for the season.  After I finish here, I’ll do your room.  We gave our maids the week off.”

“Not necessary. Some fresh towels is all we need, I think.”

“Really? Looks like Christmas came early for me.”  She walked around the tree and nodded.  “I think that does it.  Ready to see what it looks like turned on?”

Napoleon nodded and knelt to plug it in, watching her out of the corner of his eye. If she was going to make a move on him, it would have to be soon.

Instead, she nodded happily. “Looks great.”  She began to gather up the boxes.  “I’ll leave the lights with you in case you want to do your window or mantle.  Heck, I’ll just leave everything here.  Better here than me tripping over them behind reception.  You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh, not at all.” They stacked the boxes by the fireplace and then together pushed the tree into the corner.  “I’ll make sure there’s firewood on your porch for tonight.”

“Thank you. This looks very festive.”

“Tis the season and all that.” She pulled on her coat, then hat and gloves.  “Have a nice day, Mr. Solo.”

 ****

The minute she was gone and the door was locked, he walked to Illya’s suitcase and pulled out a small listening device detector. He went over the tree, the base, every light and ornament on the tree and still in the boxes, but he found nothing.

Illya checked in again and admitted defeat. “I can’t find anything, Napoleon.  I’m beginning to wonder about the veracity of Mr. Waverly’s information.”

“Once I check everything out here, I’ll call home and see what I can find.”

“What’s that sound in the background?”

“Radio. I’m checking that next.”

“Unless I find something, I’ll be coming in soon.”

“Copy that.”

Napoleon ate a sandwich while he took the radio apart, but there was nothing that wasn’t pure radio attached to any of the components.

He was reassembling it when the door to the cabin opened and Illya stamped his way in. He was covered with snow.   Napoleon realized with a start that it had started to fall again.  He was also surprised at how dark it was.

“And you were the one who was pining so for a white Christmas,” Illya muttered as he peeled off his coat and shook the snow back out the door. “It’s a mess out there.  I hope you aren’t planning on going anywhere today.”

“Aw, but it has made your cheeks rosy.”

“That’s called wind burn, my friend. Some Christmas Eve.”

“Go dry off and I’ll build up the fire. You want something to drink?”

“Please. A double.”  He shut the door and ruffled his hair.

He watched Illya pull off his boots and head for the bathroom.   Napoleon got up and walked to the fireplace.  He’d kept it going low all day, but now he added a piece of split log and watched the flames as they crackled to life. 

Noting that it was the last of their wood, he walked to the door and opened it, startling the man on the other side of it.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I have a telegram here for Mr. Solo.”

“I’m Napoleon Solo.” He held out a hand and the envelope was passed over.  He pulled a couple of bills out of his pocket and offered them.  “Thank you...”  He glanced at the name tag the man wore and tried to keep from smirking.  “Thank you.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” The man took the money and stamped away.

Napoleon grinned and closed the door. He carried the telegram to the light and tore it open.  He read it once and then again.  “I don’t believe it.”

Illya was exiting the bathroom, a towel around his neck. “Trouble?”

“It’s from Waverly.”

“What?” Illya was at his side in a heartbeat.  “Why did he send a telegram?  Why not use our communicators.”

“I’ll let you read it for yourself, but suffice it to say, Merry Christmas.” He passed over the telegram and Illya skimmed it.

“Our Christmas gift? He sent us here for our Christmas gift?  I’d rather have had a bonus.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this is nice and all, but all our gifts are back in New York.” There was a knock.  “I don’t even want to know.”

“Sorry, I’ve been answering it all day. It’s your turn.”

Illya opened the door.

“Hi, Napo---, oh, you must be Mr. Kuryakin. I’m Holly, from Reception.”  She was holding a plate of decorated cookies and a thermos in the other.  “We got bored this afternoon, so we baked.”  Without an invitation, she stepped in and carried the plate to the table.  “There’s hot chocolate in the thermos.”

“And why do we rate such service?”

“We’re the only ones here.”

“And Mr. Waverly, your boss, told us to make it special for you. Hold on to that one.  He’s a good one.” 

“Hello?”

A voice drew their attention. A man was standing there holding a box.  “I have a delivery for Solo or Kury-something.”

Illya snorted. “I’m Kuryakin.”

“Close enough.” He placed the box down.  “They’re in here!” he shouted over his shoulder.  Two other men appeared, each carrying boxes.  Their uniform top proclaimed they were Tom, Dick, and Harry – the Smart Delivery Guys.

“Thank God. This is our last stop tonight.  The roads are nearly impossible.”  The first man thrust a pad at Solo.

“Yikes, “I’d best be going, then. I hope you two have a good evening!”  Holly waved and disappeared into the night.  The men followed and Napoleon closed the door even as Illya was opening the nearest box.

“Our gifts. He shipped our packages to us.”

Napoleon broke open his box and pulled out a fifth of single malt whiskey. “And then some.”  He started to laugh then.

“What is so funny?” Illya was busy pushing gifts under the tree.

“Everything.   Here we are in Bethlehem.  We just got a message from Waverly delivered by a guy named Gab.”

“Gab?”

“Want to bet it’s short for Gabriel?”

“While it’s a tiding of great joy for us, I’m not sure a telegram from our boss equates to the coming of the messiah, Napoleon.”

“And we just had three guys bringing us gifts. Their company was called – The Smart Delivery Guys… three wise men.”

“You are just being silly now.” Illya brushed off his hands.  “You want some hot chocolate?”

“You bet and I’m telling you, Illya.” Napoleon pulled two stockings out of the box.  “Christmas wishes do come true.”  He was beaming with happiness.  “This is perfect!  Just what I asked Santa for.”

“Now I do know you’ve been into the brandy. Santa, Napoleon?”

“The Big Man himself.”

 ****

Unbeknownst to them, a figure peered in past the condensation and snow. He grinned and dropped his cigarette, crushing it out with the toe of his boot.   “Just be careful what you wish for, Napoleon.  You might just get it.”

And with that, he returned to his sleigh. He had a busy night ahead of him. 

 


End file.
